


like mountains beyond mountains

by bearfeathers



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Developing Relationship, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:21:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25048327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearfeathers/pseuds/bearfeathers
Summary: Husher was returning to Skyrim to bury his loved ones in their homeland. What he hadn't counted on was getting caught up in a civil war—or befriending a certain Imperial soldier at Helgen.Bits and pieces from Hadvar and the Dragonborn's developing relationship.
Relationships: Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Hadvar, Hadvar & Ralof, Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Hadvar
Kudos: 11





	like mountains beyond mountains

“It’s funny you assumed I was from Elsweyr.”

  
Hadvar glances sidelong at the Khajiit walking beside him. The Imperial armor hastily grabbed from the keep is ill-fitting and most likely uncomfortable, but he doesn’t let on that it is, walking with smooth, even strides. Husher is his name, as Hadvar has discovered, and though he had been on the chopping block less than an hour prior, he doesn’t seem to hold any animosity towards Hadvar for that fact.

  
“I take it from that statement that you aren’t,” Hadvar concludes.

  
“Actually, I was born in Skyrim,” Husher says.

  
The surprise must show on Hadvar’s face, for the Khajiit laughs heartily.

  
“My father was a Nord and my mother was a Khajiit,” Husher explained. “We moved to Cyrodiil when I was a boy after my father found a job opportunity in Bruma.”

  
“I apologize,” Hadvar says, feeling heat rise to his face for making such an assumption. “It hadn’t occurred to me you were a native son.”

  
Husher shakes his head. “Nor would it, given my appearance. As you know, Khajiit are… well, let’s say not especially welcome in Skyrim.”

  
“I wish I could say otherwise,” Hadvar murmurs. They walk in silence for a while before he speaks again. “So, what was it that brought you back to Skyrim?”

  
“Family,” Husher says, stooping to gather a handful of Blue Mountain Flowers. He stores them in the satchel he had taken from the keep, perhaps intending to brew something once they reach Riverwood. “My parents both passed on some years ago and my wife joined them this past year. She was a Nord, like my father, born in Skyrim. When she became ill, she made it clear she wished for her remains to be returned to her homeland.”

  
The confession startles Hadvar, the intimate personal details coming so easily from the erstwhile prisoner turned companion. But perhaps having been so close to death—his head resting on the executioner’s block as a damned _dragon_ attacked them—has loosened his lips. Hadvar still feels adrenaline pumping through his own veins and can hardly imagine Husher feels terribly different.

  
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Hadvar says. “I know how difficult it is to lose one’s parents. But I can’t imagine losing a spouse.”

  
Husher looks to him curiously, their head canted to the side. “Your parents?”

  
Hadvar nods solemnly. It had been years, but it didn’t make the pain of loss any easier.

  
“My pa was a captain in the Imperial Legion. He died in the early days of the rebellion,” Hadvar explains. “When I was sixteen, our farm was attacked by bandits. I was with Ralof in Helgen that night and wasn’t there to protect my ma.”

  
The Khajiit hums in thoughtful sympathy. It’s not something Hadvar typically cares to remember. His father had died honorably in battle and there was nothing he could do to change that. But if he had just declined Ralof’s invitation to Helgen that night, perhaps his mother would still be alive. 

  
“I had wondered if you and Ralof were previously acquainted,” Husher admits. “You seemed… emotional, I suppose, when confronted by him at Helgen.”

  
Hadvar tenses, his eyes straying further down the path. The sun is beginning to set, but if they maintain their current pace, they should reach Riverwood before nightfall. Best to get out of the wilds and avoid the wolves.

  
“We grew up together,” Hadvar says after a short while. “I thought we would always be friends, but as you saw, we’ve taken very different paths in life.”

  
“Indeed,” Husher agrees. “It’s difficult to grow apart from the ones we love.”

  
They continue on in companionable silence, the sound of their footsteps broken only by the noise of the forest around them and Husher occasionally gathering plants and herbs along their path. Hadvar has never had much of a talent for potion making, though his mother had taught him how to work a mortar and pestle with some proficiency. Still, wound salves and a tonic for upset stomach were the most he managed to concoct. 

  
Looking along the horizon, the insidious outline of Bleak Falls Barrow sends a shiver running down his spine. After facing down a dragon, you would think that childhood stories meant to keep him from misbehaving wouldn’t hold a candle. 

  
“See that ruin up there? Bleak Falls Barrow,” Hadvar says. “When I was a boy, that place always used to give me nightmares. Draugr creeping down the mountain to climb through my window at night, that kind of thing. I admit, I still don't much like the look of it…”

  
He’s surprised to hear Husher laugh.

  
“My father used to tell me the same stories,” the Khajiit says with a sly grin. “Had me convinced the draugr would hunt me all the way down to Cyrodiil if I didn’t do my chores.”

  
“Well, at least I wasn’t alone in that thought,” Hadvar chuckles. “Ralof always used to say the draugr didn’t scare him, but I think it was more for show than anything.”

  
“Oh? Was he the showy type?” Husher asks.

  
“Sometimes he could be. Although I think that when he was, it was just to keep up appearances,” Hadvar explains. “He was always braver than I was, stronger than I was. I greatly admired him and I think he felt the need to show off at times so as not to lose that admiration.”

  
Despite himself, Hadvar feels a faint smile tugging at his lips. It pains him to see what has become of them, but the memory of happier times remains untarnished by the present. Ralof had been brave and daring where Hadvar had been cautious and thoughtful. Hadvar was no coward, but he couldn’t match Ralof's natural sense of leadership and battle instinct. Ralof had been a good friend—as much his brother as anyone could be.

  
As the sun begins to dip behind the mountains, he catches sight of the Riverwood Mill. He wonders if Gerdur knows her brother had been slated for execution. He wonders if he has any right to tell her. 

  
“I’m glad you decided to come with me,” Hadvar blurts suddenly. “I know you had very little reason to and I wouldn’t have blamed you for escaping with the Stormcloaks after the way you were treated by the Legion.”

  
“I like to think I’m a good judge of character,” Husher says as they reach Riverwood's entry. “And I think you are a good man. The circumstances of our meeting were merely… hm, shall we say… _unfortunate_.”

  
The compliment sits warm in his belly like the first sip of a fresh tankard of mead. He knows he has to be careful not to be too trusting—it’s a mistake he’s made before, after all—but he can’t help but have a good feeling about this. About Husher. Maybe it’s just the shared experience of having lived through a dragon attack or maybe Husher is just that silver-tongued, but Hadvar doesn’t think that’s the case. 

  
He clears his throat. “Come on, there’s my uncle. Let’s see if we can’t find a good meal and a warm bed for the night.”


End file.
